


Kindling Sparks

by lilithqueen



Series: From Ashes [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, a small sad mage and a small sad bird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: Dalaran has been freshly purged of the Horde, and Aethas blames himself. In search of a place to grieve, he instead finds Al'ar's hidden aerie in the Sunfury Spire - and to his own surprise, he makes a friend. (That friend is not Rommath, who is highly unamused by these proceedings.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZephiraZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephiraZ/gifts).



No restrictions had been placed on his movements within the Spire, which had surprised him more than he was comfortable admitting. _One would think that they would want to keep me away from anything else I could fuck up. It’s not as though I’ve a wonderful track record of leaving things unspoiled._ He paused halfway in his climb up the stairs, resting his elbow on the windowsill. It was narrow as they all were in this section of the spire, designed more for archers to fire out of than for the view. Still, as high up as he was, it gave him a fine view of the city; he could just make out the Hall of Blood far below. _But then again…I suppose I’m useless enough that they don’t have to worry._

Lor’themar and Halduron had been kind enough not to say that to his face, at least. Rommath had held his tongue, but Aethas would have had to have been blind to miss the sneering disdain in his eyes. Another time, it would have stung.

Not now. Not now, with the blood of innocent people—his own people—partly on his hands. Not when he was climbing the highest tower in the Sunfury Spire to escape the certain knowledge that waiting for him in the office he’d been given were stacks of black-bordered stationary he would have to put to use, dozens of letters he would have to write to the families of those killed or imprisoned. Not when he’d weighed the scales—Garrosh’s madness against Jaina’s and Vereesa’s lust for vengeance—and come out the loser.

Not when it was his own damn fault he’d been betrayed.

_Again. First Thalen, and now Fanlyr. The Grand Magister is right, it’s because I’m weak and foolish and—_

He closed his mind to such thoughts, grit his teeth against the urge to sob, and kept climbing. Clearly nobody ever came this high up; his boots were leaving prints in thick dust. Good. If he was going to cry, he’d be thrice damned if anybody was going to see it. The white marble was growing warmer to the touch the higher he climbed; pausing, he tapped his fingers against it. _Doesn’t feel like spell residue, and the sunlight can’t possibly be that bright…_

Someone had barred the door to the roof. For a moment, all he could do was stare dully at it; the simple wooden bar set across the gilded wood bore every sign of having been hastily hammered into place, but the nails had rusted years ago and the resulting mess wouldn’t have stopped a child. Without a second thought, he wrapped arcane energy around his fingertips and pulled it out of the way. The sun-warmed door gave way at a push; as he stepped through onto a tiny terrace, he looked around and shuddered. Nobody had swept up here in _ages_ , and the rain and wind had carried up piles of detritus to litter the stone. Upon closer examination, he was sure some of the dead leaves and twigs were being used as a nest for—his ears swivelled as the sound reached them—an entire colony of very melodious pigeons.

And even with the breeze, it was hot. He took a few steps out of the doorway and let his legs fold under him, pulling his collar aside as he tilted his face towards the sun. _Maybe if I stay up here long enough I’ll mummify. They’ll find me in a year or so when someone bothers to look. No, Brasael would beat down the doors first, he was always after me to take care of myself—_

The lump in his throat threatened to choke him, and he keened at the memory. Brasael would never stop by his office door with half of one of Uda’s sandwiches, because he was dead like so many other Sunreavers, like so many innocent people whose only crime had been to follow him to Dalaran in search of a life free from the stupid, _stupid_ faction war.

At least up here, there were no witnesses to his tears, and nobody tried to offer useless sympathy or coldhearted logic when he landed on his side and sobbed into the stone. A long, orange-red feather had fluttered down from somewhere; he caught his breath and blinked at it blurrily before squeezing his eyes shut. _They even killed the dragonhawks._

And that would have set him off crying again, except that the pigeons he’d thought he’d heard suddenly seemed to be much closer, and the sun’s heat was far too bright behind his closed eyes. Something hard, smooth, and warm touched his ear. “Crrrrrrooooooo?”

“Go _away_ —” His outstretched hand brushed something that burned; instinctively he jolted away, eyes flying open, and for far too long a moment all he could do was prop himself up on one elbow and stare at the enormous phoenix perched in front of him. _Oh. Oh, sweet Light._

Al’ar, the phoenix god, the beast known to all of Quel’thalas and venerated as a minor deity by at least half of them, tilted its head and made a noise not unlike an inquisitive chicken before following it up with the saddest-sounding croon Aethas had ever heard, feathers drooping.

“Oh.” It was more of a breath than a word as realization crashed into his mind. This, then, was where the great phoenix had come to rest and brood after Kael’thas’s death and betrayal. The locked door retroactively made sense; nobody in the Spire would have been willing to risk instant incineration by disturbing the bird, and so it would have been left alone—all alone, and for _years_. The thought was heartbreaking, and he found himself murmuring, “You know what it’s like, don’t you? You thought your people would always be there.”

Another low trill from the bird, and its glowing eyes glittered with—tears? Could phoenixes, birds of living flame, cry?

He took a slow breath. _It might kill me. But…in its place, I would want to be comforted, too. And at least I will die having tried to do some good._ Carefully, he sat up and reached out, fingers trembling, to pet the bird’s neck. “Shhh, shhh. It’s alright now. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”

The feathers were fire, warm to the touch, but—to his surprise—no more than that. There was none of the furnace heat he’d expected, no sharp beak and talons tearing at his flesh. Indeed, Al’ar was leaning in, crooning softly, and shuffled closer until it was pressed against his side.

“Um, what—” Oh. A razor-sharp beak was preening his hair, and a massive incandescent wing was arcing over his head and pulling him tightly into thick, soft feathers. For a few agonizing seconds he was sure he was about to be cooked to death, but then the heat abated; it was actually comfortable, and he felt himself relax into the phoenix’s side.

“Crrrrrrr…” The low, grating trill seemed to be a reassuring noise.

He sighed into Al’ar’s feathers. The sorrow was still there—a black beast hovering over his shoulder, slavering teeth ready to lodge in his heart—but somehow, it did help to know that someone in the spire grieved at the same time he did. At least he wasn’t alone.

He didn’t even notice when he drifted off to sleep.

&&&&

 _Finding Sunreaver should not be my concern_ , Rommath thought sourly as he trudged up the stairs. _That is why we have servants—Sun above, that is why I have apprentices. But no, Lor’themar wants to make sure he knows where the food is and somehow it’s my responsibility to ensure that. ‘He’s had a traumatic day, Rommath, the least we can do is get him to eat and sleep.’ Bah! It’s more than he deserves._

He stopped to crack his back, wincing at the shifting cartilage. _This entire mess is all his fault. If he’d ever listened to me in his life or used that brain he supposedly has, none of this would have happened. Maybe this will finally strip him of that reckless optimism of his, and he’ll start thinking rationally about the real world now that the fairytale he lived in has drowned in blood._ Blood which still stained under his nails, the scent clinging to the inside of his nose. If he breathed too deeply, he still smelled ash and burning flesh. _I swear, when I find him, I will shake him by the collar like the disobedient pup he is._

And it would be “when.” They’d run out of other places to search, knowing that he hadn’t left the Spire and narrowing it down by section. The libraries hadn’t seen him, and he wasn’t in the kitchens or the laboratories. Rommath had even sent someone to check his rooms (still partly covered in dust cloths, with the odd musty smell of unaired furniture) and they’d found no trace of him. That, regrettably, left the roofs as some of the more likely options. _Of course, he won’t be on this one if he has any sense at all._

When he finally reached the top of the winding staircase, he froze. The bar had been wrenched aside and the door left ajar; the light streaming through the crack was a steady, vivid pinkish orange he’d only ever seen from one source. Guilt knifed through him, and he had to close his eyes against it for a moment. When Al’ar had come back to Quel’thalas he’d still been sealed tighter than the Violet Hold in the shell of his grief; the thought of having to share it had been intolerable, and the thought of having the old wound reopened was enough to make him seriously consider turning around.

He would have, if the sound of Al’ar singing hadn’t reached his ears. It was so low he almost missed it entirely, a steady polyphonic cooing that brought to mind a half-forgotten lullaby. It drew him onwards, and before he could think about it he was opening the door. “Forgive m—”

The phoenix god wasn’t alone. It had had tucked Aethas against its side, wing mantled over him protectively. From what he could see, the young archmage was actually _asleep_. He’d taken his helm off at some point, revealing the tracks of tears over his freckled face.

 _I will not shout. I will not annoy the god. I will…not…shout._ He was pleased at how even his voice was when he found it. “Sunreaver. Get up.”

Aethas stretched slowly and extravagantly, shoving his face further into Al’ar’s feathers with a groan before opening his eyes. They were slow to focus, but held a wary glint in them when they finally locked onto his. “Grand Magister.”

“The Regent Lord wishes me to inform you that…” His gaze drifted to the phoenix, who had shifted just enough to allow Aethas to sit up and possibly get to his feet but otherwise seemed disinclined to move. “Food is available, and you’ll be eating it. Meals will be delivered to you in your quarters.”

Judging by the expression on his face, he half thought Aethas was about to refuse—but as the young mage stood up, his stomach grumbled loudly enough that he blushed and averted his gaze. “…My thanks. I should be going, anyway—ack!”

Rommath had already turned to descend the staircase; he looked back over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn’t. Al’ar had bitten Aethas’s sleeve and seemed determined to drag him back, hissing. Aethas, entirely unaware of the gravity of the situation, was sighing at it. “I’ll be back—look, you’re far too large to come with me anyway, you’ll never fit through the windows—“

There was a rush of displaced air as the phoenix changed, becoming no larger than a dove. Aethas stared at it; though he hated to admit it, Rommath knew he was doing the same as it fluttered onto the young mage’s shoulder. _Impossible. It chose him, just like that—he’s not a Sunstrider, he doesn’t have a drop of noble blood, for the Sun’s sake I think his parents are_ tailors _…_

“Well.” Aethas shrugged his unburdened shoulder awkwardly. “Lead the way.”

He was grateful that Aethas followed behind him; it meant he couldn’t see his face.

 


End file.
